It's a cold grey day, the Bermuda grass on the golf course has turned to the color of straw and for the first time since early spring all the golfers are wearing long pants.
I too have given up the cargo shorts opting for cargo "pants", as today there is much to do.
Shopping; oh how I loath shopping, but I've committed to buying some bicycles for the Salvation Army who will gift them to unknown numbers of children. Last year they had 115 more requests than they had bicycles, this year I expect it will be more than ever before, so WalMart I'll head off to before the day is over.
But in all the shopping madness there needs to be a little time to pause, as Robert Frost did so many years ago, I am tempted to think he was out shopping when this poem came to mind.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
An interesting note is how the third line sets up the rhyme for the each following stanza.